Chapter 18
When Trying to Tell Yourself Something, Listen

"Ya know," I said to my friends the next morning, "losing that house might be one of the best things that's ever happened to me on this island."

"Baa," said Rainy.

"Yes, really," I continued, " 'cause it just added another 'P' to my Way."

The lamb looked at me quizzically.

"Sorry," I said. "You weren't born yet when I discovered the Five P's: Planning, Preparing, Prioritizing, Practice, and Patience. And now"—I held up a theatrical fist—"Perseverance, which is just a fancy way of repeating my first lesson of not giving up! But when you put it with the other P's, it makes a cube!"

At that point they all turned away.

"How fitting," I told their butts, "in more ways than one. 'Cause if you laid all these P's out on the ground, you could fold them up into a cube, which is what this whole world's made of." I took a moment to let this profound epiphany sink in, and took from their munching sounds that they were as impressed with me as I was with myself.

"The Way of the Cube," I said grandly, striding among them with outstretched hands, "and the perfect philosophy for my next project."

"Baa," said Cloud.

"Oh no," I told my pale companion, "not a new house, not yet. Not before finally tackling the reason I lost the first one."

Looking up at the burned-out, waterfall-filled ruin on the hill, I asked, "How long ago did I realize that torchlight prevents mob spawns? And how many times did I plan to light the whole island? But I never did it because I got distracted by other projects, and, to be honest, it seemed boring. And look at the price I paid for it. No more. That house-destroying creeper taught me yet another priceless life lesson: Ne—"

Turning back toward my friends, I saw that they'd all walked away in the middle of my monologue.

"Never put off the boring-but-important chores!" I shouted after their retreating forms.

And so I went straight to work on lighting up my island. I used up all my coal and most of my wood to make enough torches to carpet the land. I placed them on trees, on grass, on the beaches, even in the middle of the lagoon on a single column of cobblestone. I wasn't taking any chances.

Yes, I know, I'd promised to leave that part of the island exactly as I found it, but I reasoned that if I didn't mob-proof the environment with torches, then I risked damaging it further with more mob attacks. Sometimes you have to compromise an ideal in order to save it.

I'm glad I did.

"Not one mob," I said to Moo, standing in the midnight meadow, watching the torches blend with the stars. "Not a single spawn from one end of the island to the other."

"Moo," she answered agreeably. I looked up to the stars on their slow, straight journey west. "I could stare at them all night." And then on that thought, I added, "In fact, why do I need a house anymore?" I imagined my bed on the bare summit of the hill, with only the stars for cover. "The island's safe and the temperature's always mild. Why do I need a roof over my head?"

And at that moment—and this really happened—it began to rain. And not those little drizzly showers that came every now and then. This was a full-blown storm, with ground-shaking thunder and cracks of white lightning.

"That's why," I said, sheltering under a tree with Moo.

Just thinking about being struck made me shiver. As much as I'd like to sleep out under the stars, I'd also need a roof over my head.

And it wouldn't be a wooden roof this time. In fact, the whole structure would be fireproof. Remember that story of the three pigs? I did, right down to the exact detail of using bricks.

No reason substance can't have style, right? I found that bricks were just as strong as cobblestone, and they also looked really nice.

I dug up all the clay from the lagoon's underwater pits, but after replacing the bottom layers with sand, I put that top layer right back in order to restore its natural beauty. I was lucky to have enough clay to make plenty of bricks for a cozy cottage.

I guess I won't have to describe what the house looks like to you. Unless, of course, you're reading a copy of this story or the original's been moved somewhere else. I'm gonna assume it's in the same place, though, and that you've seen the smaller, C-shaped building that mirrors the natural form of the island.

You've seen the kitchen and workshop wings on the first floor, the bedroom and walk-in closets on the second. You've seen the iron front door and the two trapdoors on each wing for ventilation, as well as the iron-bar windows I have at the north and south walls of each upper floor. Doesn't that sea breeze feel good?

You've seen that I learned how to make a clay flower pot that I left next to my bed, and an armor stand in the closet. And you've seen that I figured out how to stain glass blocks in the ceiling and make proper, thin, elegant windowpanes downstairs.

Most important, though, you've seen the paintings.

Those came about when I was making a new bed. Now that I'm not using flammable wool for carpeting anymore, I thought, why not mess around a little with it and see if I can come up with anything else?

And I did. A mix of sticks and wool got me the image of a blank white canvas stretched in a wooden frame. It was only when I grabbed it that the real bizarreness began. Experience suggested that this object belonged on the wall, and when I placed it on the naked bricks, the surface suddenly filled with brilliantly colored mini-squares! The sheer surprise made me back up a few steps, and that was when I saw a clear pattern.

It was a human figure from my world, tall and rounded, with black clothes and reddish hair, standing on a mountain top, looking over a white landscape. "Whoa…" I breathed, feeling truly gobsmacked. This was a whole new level of crafting. Not the basic, generic items like a pickaxe or a bed. This was a clear, specific, unique image.

"How?" I asked aloud. How had this world decided on what would fill the canvas?

I punched up the painting, trying to examine it closer. The image went blank. I placed it back on the wall, and saw something completely different. Not only had the frame changed shape, but the picture now appeared to be two black and white figures reaching for each other.

"Wha…" I whispered, and removed it again. The third time, it kept the same horizontal frame but changed the image to a very recognizable creeper. And that's when the theory formed. Was the world choosing these images or was I? The first two subjects were real paintings from my world. In fact the very first painting, the man on the mountaintop, had been reproduced on the cover of a book I'd once read, something about a man creating a monster. Was this world somehow channeling my memories? Was this the key to remembering who I was?

Leaving the creeper painting up as a fitting reminder to always close the door, I got to work on another frame, and placed it on the wall in my bedroom.

What else will I remember? I thought*.*

I gaped at the painting that appeared. At first I didn't think it came from either world. The subject was of a man, I think, with yellow skin, a red shirt, blue pants, and a triangular, blue and red hat. At first his crude outline looked squarish, but the thin lines just didn't match up with this world.

And then it hit me.

"You're King Graham," I said to the picture, "from the computer game King's Quest."

Computers.

I'd thought a lot about the conveniences of my world: refrigeration, microwave ovens, TV, and AC. All of them were in reference to making my life here more comfortable. But computers were different. They didn't just help my life, they were my life.

That's why I don't know how to fish, or cook, or tend a garden. I've spent my life in front of a screen…

But who did that life belong to?

Stepping out of the house, I didn't think about where I was going, or notice that it'd begun to drizzle. I didn't even realize that I'd begun humming a song from my world, the same one I'd remembered that horrible first night on the island.

"You may find yourself," I said aloud, meandering almost dreamily down the hill. As before, I couldn't recall all the lyrics. It was like trying to listen to a neighbor's radio through a wall. All I could come up with was that same one from before.

"And you may ask yourself," I sang to Moo. "Well, how did I get here?" And then, looking down at my friend, asked, "And why am I here?"

It hadn't dawned on me up until that moment that there might be a conscious reason for my entry into this bizarre, blocky world. I'd either been too busy or, let's be honest, too unwilling to even think that something, someone, had intentionally taken me.

"If there's a reason for me being here," I asked Moo, "then what is it?"

Just saying it out loud made me uncomfortable. I could feel my neck muscles tighten, my stomach churn, and any peace I'd rebuilt with the new house evaporate like dead-zombie smoke.

Sensing my growing discomfort, Moo ventured a questing "moo."

"I don't know," I answered, at that moment despising those three terrifying words. "I don't know why asking these questions is making me feel so…small and scared? I mean, haven't I been working toward answering them all along? Wasn't that the reason for the grand strategy? The whole point of nailing down food, shelter, and safety was to give me the space to concentrate on the really big questions, and now that I've done all that, now that the moment's here…"

I suddenly felt like I was standing on a cliff, like when I'd almost fallen into the lava of the underground canyon. And just like during that terrifying ordeal, I backed way up into safety.

"Now that the moment's here," I said, pivoting into desperate denial, "I deserve to enjoy it! Right?"

Moo just looked at me.

"After all," I continued, "those questions'll still be here tomorrow, or next week, right? I'm entitled to take a moment to smell the flowers, or enjoy the sunset." And looking out at the appropriately setting sun, I concluded with "Which is the perfect time to test my new hot tub."

Walking back to the house, I could swear Moo's call sounded like "Wait, we gotta talk about this."

"Sorry," I said, practically skipping away. "Time for some me-time."

I'd rebuilt my hot-water luxury over the foundation of my former chicken coop. Not only was it a heck of a lot safer than keeping live lava in the house, but the ocean breeze, and now the rain, made it a perfect location.

Soaking in the steaming water, watching the sun dip between the clouds and the sea, I tried to enjoy this near-perfect moment. But it wasn't absolutely perfect; the questions had followed me into the tub.

Who? Where? Why?

I tried to close my eyes, to focus on the breeze and the rain. I tried concentrating on the chores of the next morning, like tending the replanted garden and repairing my armor and tools. I tried to imagine some new decorations like rows of flowers or maybe a fountain.

Nothing worked. Questions, I realized, don't stay put; you can't just walk away from them.

Not that I didn't try. For the second time in ten minutes, I got up and left. "Time for bed," I told myself, even though sunset had become my favorite time of day. I walked up to the house, ready to spend my first night in my newly finished masterpiece. I hoped that a good night's sleep and a morning of comforting routine would keep me focused on the here and now.

That's when I noticed the torches, or lack thereof. I only had one on the top floor and one on the bottom. I'd used all the others to light the island.

"Oh that's bad," I said, shaking my head dramatically. "That's really bad."

Looking out through the bars of my bedroom window, I called down to Moo, "See that? Too dark! I gotta get more torches and more coal. I gotta get mining again."

"Moo," came an answer that I took as "You know you're just making up excuses."

"No, seriously," I countered. "What if one torch isn't enough to keep mobs from spawning?"

Again came a long, scolding, will-you-just-deal-with-what's-bothering-you-already "moo."

"Hold that thought," I said, reaching for my armor and tools. "We'll talk later."

Pickaxe in hand, sword and shield on my belt, and a healthy ration of bread and carrots in my pack, I made my way back down below the earth.

Surveying the underground canyon made me realize how thoroughly mined-out it was. Glittering ore caches had been replaced by gaping holes. The walls actually looked like some hungry creature had taken huge bites out of them, which I guess wasn't that far from the truth.

The side tunnels had been equally ravaged. Previously dark tubes were now well-lit passageways. And, of course, the well-lit part was what I didn't want to think about. If I was really after coal for torches, I could have grabbed some ready-made ones right off the walls around me.

For a moment, I seriously considered doing just that: taking a few torches, heading back home, and trying to find another way to avoid answering those really big questions.

"Gaaahhh."

The groan actually brought a smile to my flat face.

"Gaaahhh."

Somewhere down here, in some dark spot I'd somehow missed, was a distracting, delaying dead guy.

Drawing my sword I looked in every direction. I couldn't see anything at first.

"Gaaahhh!" These groans sounded slightly different than usual, higher pitched. I listened carefully, thinking maybe it was a trick of the canyon. And then something came flying out of the darkness.

I blanched as a miniature, halfling, baby zombie raced toward me from a small hole in the wall. And when I say raced, I mean raced. This little imp was fast! Before I could even raise Flash it'd crashed into me like a freight train. Flying back, I barely uttered a startled "oof" before it struck me a second time.

And it wasn't just fast, it was tough. I don't know how many times I'd swung before Flash finally smoked it.

"What the what!?" I croaked, wolfing down food to heal the pain. Peering into the half-zie's hiding spot, I couldn't make out any treasure. No coal, iron, or anything of value. What this opening did present, however, was a chance to pretend that I actually cared about exploring.

I picked away a me-sized opening and stepped cautiously through. I raised my shield, waiting for the inevitable arrow. It didn't come. I waited a few extra moments, listening for the groan of a zombie or the hiss of a spider. Nothing but silence.

Stepping gingerly forward, I thought I saw an object in the light of the tunnel's entrance.

It looked like a plant, or at least something plantlike, growing right out of the rock floor. Stepping closer, I could make out three short, stubby, tan-colored shrubs. My foot must have gotten too close to one, because it popped off the stone floor and up into my belt. Looking closer, I could see it was a mushroom.

"Ew," I grimaced, thinking that either they were poisonous or would make me see long-dead rock stars. What a change from my earlier time of starvation when I would have literally killed for one.

That's when I noticed the other light.

I figured it had to be another lava pit, although the tunnel ahead was getting colder with each step. Guard up, weapon ready, I marched the last few paces to a sharp descent in the tunnel.

What I saw took my breath away. At the bottom of a rough, steep slope was a torch—not one of mine—attached to a wooden frame.

"I'm not alone!" I exclaimed, ironically hearing only my own echo in reply. So many images flashed before my mind: the boots I'd pulled out of the ocean, the questions about what lay beyond the horizon, and, with a sudden, sharp sense of danger, the witch.

What if this was its home? What if there were more of them?

Balancing between verve and vigilance, I crept to the bottom of the slope and stared in pure shock down the length of an artificial mineshaft. The walls had been carefully scraped out into a neat four-by-four pattern. Every few steps, the ceiling was supported by wooden crossbeams set on double-high fence posts. I couldn't tell how far back the tunnel went. Darkness blotted out anything beyond a few dozen paces.

Who made this? I wondered. And when? And where are they? My head was spinning with questions.

Had my island once been inhabited? Had there been another individual like me, or a group of people who had come here, built this, then left? If so, where was the surface evidence, like structures and homes? Had the original miners decided to restore the entire island to its natural state before leaving? If so, why hadn't they taken all the other minerals I'd found up until this point?

Maybe they'd taken as much as they needed, or—my pulse raced—maybe the island hadn't been their starting point, but their ending! Maybe this mining tunnel ran under the ocean and out to reality, or a new world, or a different island, at the very least.

I thought about calling out to whoever might still be here, but then reasoned that they might also be hostile.

Just because someone looks like you doesn't make them a friend.

Once again I came back to the theory of a witch's lair, and decided not to advertise my presence.

I noticed that the woodblocks and fence posts were oak, not birch, and since the former had been rarer up on my island before I, well, caused their extinction, maybe all this had been brought in from someplace else.

I placed a torch farther down the wall and spied another peculiarity in the distance. There were sections of wood and metal crafted to make some kind of track. I followed it hesitantly, placing torches every few steps and listening for any nearby sounds.

I passed caches of embedded coal, iron, and redstone, which I promised to dig out later. I also passed several blocks of spider webs in the upper corners of the shaft. This last observation sent my anxiety to full alert. Maybe they've been spun by some harmless little species about the size of a crabupine. Or maybe their bigger cousins are to blame.

Still following the track, I saw that the shaft split left and right. I looked left, saw nothing but blackness, looked right, and saw what looked like a metal box.

Getting closer, I saw that it wasn't a box but a wheeled cart that held a standard wooden storage chest. Opening the lid, I found a worn iron pickaxe and something that positively blew my mind.

It wasn't that it was crafted of diamonds, it wasn't that the diamonds had been crafted into armor, it was that the armor had been crafted for something that wasn't human! At first glance, this large protective cover seemed to be made for a four-legged animal. A cow? A sheep? Why would anyone want to protect animals that were ignored by mobs?

Maybe it's protection against another monster I haven't encountered yet, I mused, examining the glittering cover. Or maybe it's the animal, not the monster, that I haven't encountered.

If the second theory was true, then it bolstered my original notion that these materials were coming from someplace beyond my island.

Should I head back up to the surface to try this suit on my animal friends, or should I press on?

CLICKETY-CLACK.

There was my answer.

Three arrows—yes, three—came whistling from the dark to bury themselves in my ironclad chest.

I winced, turning to run down the tunnel. Like that very first underground battle. I turned a corner and waited for my pursuers to show.

CLICK.

CLICK.

CLICK.

I could hear three pairs of bony feet, although it didn't seem possible. One, maybe two, but I'd never come across that many.

You're in for it, I told myself, and I surely was. No chance for a shield-and-strike maneuver here. No way to avoid looking like a wounded hedgehog.

As the trio of archers came around the corner, I laid in with flashing, diamond-edged determination. You don't want to know how many arrows stuck out of my body by the end. I sure don't want to remember it. It was enough to devour the rest of my food and send me straight back up to the surface.

"Guys," I called to my four-legged posse. "This fit any of you?"

I took special care to hold up the diamond armor to both Moo and the sheep. Neither would accept it.

"So, what do you think it's for?" I asked them. "A deer? A horse? A water buffalo?" The middle one made the most sense, as I'd seen pictures of armored horses from my world's "Age of Dumbness." "I guess the specific animal isn't as important," I told Moo, "as the fact that there has to be other land out there." I glanced out at the horizon, feeling my insides tighten again.

"Or maybe not," I chirped, hopping back on the denial express. "This island could be a mountaintop on a world that flooded. Wasn't there a career-killing movie about that?"

The animals all stared at me.

"Whatever," I said, and headed back for the hill. "Point is, I gotta get back down there. Who knows what I'm gonna find."

I still wasn't ready to listen to what my subconscious was trying to tell me.